


Sanctified

by korasami



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Meet-Cute, Plot holes probably exist, This is just an excuse to fix Lust's death in FMA Brotherhood, seriously, weak plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korasami/pseuds/korasami
Summary: “I’ve defeated one of your kind before, and I can do it again.”Left weak but alive after her final encounter with Roy Mustang, Lust finds an unlikely ally in Major General Olivier Armstrong.





	Sanctified

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calculatingcarefully](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Calculatingcarefully).



> Written for [Calculatingcarefully](https://calculatingcarefully.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr as part of the [WLW FMA Gift Exchange](https://wlw-fma-giftexchange.tumblr.com/)! Sorry for posting so late at night; it's still the 25th for me, at least!
> 
> I tried to keep this as canon-compliant as possible, but I am admittedly unfamiliar with the Mangahood plot, so there's probably something I missed. Also, this is un-beta'd, so if you see any misakes, please let me know!! It's my first fic since 2015, and the first thing I've written in English in many months, so some of the grammar might be funky.
> 
> Latin translations in end notes. Hopefully it's all correct, I translated it from memory so there may be mistakes.

_sōlēs occidere et redīre possunt:_  
_nōbīs cum semel occidit brevis lūx,_  
_nox est perpetua ūna dormienda._

"The suns are able to fall and rise:  
When that brief light has fallen for us,  
we must sleep a never ending night."

—Catullus,  _ Carmen 5 _

 

—

_ “I’ve been beaten. I hate to admit it. But being killed by someone like you isn’t so bad. Those eyes looking straight ahead, unwavering... I can’t wait. The day when those eyes will be twisted in agony is not far off.” _

Lust smiles as her body disintegrates. What that wretched Roy Mustang doesn’t know won’t kill him.  _ Yet _ .

 

—

The floor is cold, and Lust writhes her being against it with mindless desperation in a futile attempt to douse the burning of phantom flames. She has not felt so weak since her creation, when she was nothing more than a mutilation of humanoid limbs. She squeezes what must be her eyes tighter as the layers of her skin slowly regenerate. The death of her body does nothing to cease the agony of her incineration. Lust gasps, and the air grows quiet for just a brief moment; her mind not yet sound enough to recognize the sound of the ear-splitting shrieks as her own.

Time has no meaning down here, wherever she is, and her body aches from both age and rebirth. She wonders how long she had been floating through the air as ash. The graveyard of her mind’s memory hangs, infertile, like a desecrated spider’s web, even as her body is imprisoned in the afterimages of a nightmare most graphic. Questions die before they are able to become coherent, for they have no solid surface on which to cling. Answers, and the facts they base themselves on, have yet to relearn an existence.

Lust can  _ feel _ , though, and that is enough to tell her she is alive. The cycle of death and regeneration sapped her strength, her body, but not her stone. A lipless grin carves itself on whatever might be left of her face. Surviving a near-fatal defeat holds the possibility of delivering revenge in equal measure.

_ Revengerevengerevenge _ is the catalyst for the reanimation of Lust’s mind. The haze of her fragility is blown away as a swarm of thought invades her consciousness—

_ “I’ve finally got you on your knees.” _

—and Lust jerks upright, her body moving before she can help it, her mind begging for the pain to stop—

— _ “You said you still weren’t dead, didn’t you?” _ —

—the flames, the shrieking, the arrogance of the alchemist. The crying of his friends—why had they protested the actions of that man? Had they been understanding of her pain? 

_ “Then I’ll just have to kill you until you are dead.” _

Not likely. Lust would never understand humans, but humans understood homunculi even less. She opens her eyes to stinging darkness, and shuts them again.

She thinks about her life  _ before _ . Remembering is a talent she only recently learned, and normally it hurts too much to bear. Yet no amount of reminiscence compares to her current physical torture, so Lust allows herself to. She is too aware of the irony of  _ the Flame Alchemist, Hero of Ishval,  _ being responsible for her death when  _ he himself does not even realize it.  _ The smell of her desert haunts him, too. Flesh, burning, is another smell they now share.

Perhaps she does understand humans. Her near-death as her body pressed against the Elric brother’s earth wall with no escape from the Flame Alchemist’s torture reenacted the slaughters of thousands of Ishbalans. Mustang’s woman must have seen this. Lust gives a smile to the dark.

 

—

Lust shudders as she leans against the icy wall of Briggs, reorienting herself with trembling hands. Beneath her palms she feels the burn of the temperature. She can no longer feel anything beneath her fingertips, can no longer feel her fingers themselves. Wind whips her hair in every direction, and, not for the first time since her journey began, she wishes she could alter her clothes like Envy.

Slowly, Lust becomes aware of the faint crunch of snow under feet, barely audible beneath the roar of the blizzard. Lust freezes, her hands still spread wide against the icy metal. The movement halts, and for a vain moment, Lust’s heart coaxes her with a fantasy of solitude. Then, seemingly shooting through the air on fierce confidence alone—

“Don’t think you can hide from me,  _ homunculus _ .”

Lust jerks her head towards the source of the sound. The threat of exposure sends panic up her throat as a figure comes into view. Dressed in Amestrian blues, the woman who spoke— _ the woman who knows who she is _ —

“I’ve defeated one of your kind before, and I can do it again.”

The sharp scrape of the woman’s sword sliding against its metal sheath rings through Lust, a sound that evokes memories of sparring with Wrath. This time, however, Lust is more than aware of her own mortality; she cannot deny that Mustang’s assault had weakened both her finesse and her regeneration ability. Her frantic eyes slide over the bronze of the woman’s rank, and she resigns herself to face the challenge ahead. Months ago, fueled by red stones and the false promise of unlimited power, Lust could have defeated this Major General in one breath. Now, as she quickly adjusts her body into a defensive stance, she is unsure how long she can maintain the illusion of health.

“Are you sure this is your wisest course of action?” Lust murmurs, and though it is  all she can muster she hopes it sounds mysterious. Sultry. Intimidating.

The General raises her left eyebrow. Perhaps Lust ought to have kept silent. “When my men told me they had seen someone with an ouroboros tattoo, I was anticipating a more,” she hesitates, but Lust  _ knows _ it was intentional, “charismatic opponent.” She snorts. “I’m disappointed.”

Lust scowls at this. “I did not come here to fight you. I—” She chokes on her words. Aware of Homunculi as this woman seems to be, she likely would not approve of Lust fleeing to Drachma to wait out her recovery. What could Lust say to convince this woman to let her pass freely? Surely someone who had fought and conquered one of her fellow Homunculi would not be so keen on the idea. She rubs her bare arms in an attempt to appear sympathetic, and because she  _ is _ very cold. “I am Lust the Lascivious. I was gravely injured after an encounter; I have been searching for a place to recover my strength, hidden from both the military and the other Homunculi.”

“An encounter with  _ what _ ?” The General asks, voice demanding. “And why would you wish to hide from the Homunculi?”

“Not all Homunculi are friendly with one another,” Lust snaps, though her voice chatters. She hopes the General will drop her first line of inquiry. “I can act independently of them if I wish.”

The General sheathes her sword. “The other Homunculus I met certainly seemed isolated from its kin,” she mutters. “And you’re certainly more articulate.”  _ Sloth, then. _ “And you—what? You seek refuge at Briggs?”

Lust’s eyes widen, but she doubts the General notices. “That was not my intention—but if you’re offering, General...?”

“Armstrong,” the woman offers, and Lust stiffens. “And no, I was not offering.”

“Ah.”

Lust would blink, if her eyes were not frozen open. Lust had heard of Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong from Wrath: a fierce woman, though obstinate. There was a consensus that any attempt to recruit her was unlikely to bode well. If Lust was at her peak performance, she is confident she would have identified her immediately.

“That being said, I would be a fool to simply let you leave,” Armstrong says casually. Adjusting the position of her hand on the hilt of her blade, she jerks her head to look up the wall. “Buccaneer!”

Lust is unsure how to feel when she hears a faint, “Yes, sir!” in reply from somewhere above.

“Detain this woman and bring her to an interrogation room.”

Lust had neither heard nor seen any soldiers approach earlier, but before she can react to General Armstrong’s words, she feels large hands grab her hard by the wrists. She is jerked back, and, on instinct alone, tries to stab the men with her ultimate spear. Yet she feels no change in the grip on her wrists, nor in her fingers themselves.

_ Damn _ , Lust thinks,  _ that flame alchemy really took a toll on my philosopher’s stone.  _ A sudden hit to the back of her head—almost assuredly not the work of flesh—and Lust’s mind goes black.

 

—

When Lust next opens her eyes, all is dark, but she is not alone. She is seated, hands bound behind her, and she feels the press of a table against her stomach. Lust blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear the stiffness from her eyelids. She sees no outline of a door, so her back must be facing it. Slowly, she twists her bound hands so that her fingertips point perpendicular with the wall behind her.

_ Focus, _ she thinks, and her head voice sounds eerily like Father.  _ Focus. The Ultimate Spear is not a toy, but a weapon.  _ Lust closes her eyes, because, yes, this is a memory. She hesitates only briefly before allowing her mind to drift into the past; if her captor had intended to make its presence known, she would have spoken by now.

_ “Careful, now,”  _ Father had said, and Lust still remembers the humor in Father’s voice as he said this.

_ “Yeah,”  _ Envy had cackled,  _ “You wouldn’t want to pop Gluttony!” _

Their comment had caused Lust to blush a deep burgundy. Red. Whatever.

_ “Play nice, Envy,”  _ was Father’s reply.

Lust had growled at the two and spun away to face the far wall. Muscle memory had her clasping her hands together in some manner of imploration before she snapped her arms apart with stubborn determination. After waiting a few seconds, Lust felt a finger twitch. She had let a few more pass before opening her eyes to peek at her hands. Lust still remembers how overjoyed she felt when she saw a spear projecting from one of her fingers, as well as the panic upon following the spear’s path to—

_ “Kindly remove your weapon from my thigh, my Lust,”  _ Father half-choked. Whether it had been from pain or from laughter, Lust still has yet to decipher.

_ “Sorry, Father,”  _ Lust stuttered, and focused her whole energy on retracting her spear. Her steady eyes met Father’s despite her mistake. His face and eyes both were stone. Still Lust had refused to lower her gaze.

Father, the first to have broken, smiled at Lust. “ _ It is no trouble. Still, you ought to push yourself harder during training. We will not make progress towards preparing for the Promised Day with a weak homunculus slowing us down. _ ”

“ _ Yes, Father, _ ” Lust had murmured, humbled at last. 

Father’s eyes had once more met Lust’s. This time, she had found the omniscient gaze reassuring. Her stomach lurches at the memory of such devotion, and Lust can no longer bear reliving the memory. As she opens her eyes, the echo of Father’s final words ring shrill in her ears.

_ “Learn to see your Ultimate Spear as an extension of your own hands, your own body. In life, as well as on the battlefield, there is little difference between a man untrained and a man unarmed.” _

 

Realigning her slack fingers, Lust releases her Ultimate Spear. She hears no squelch of flesh, no scrape of metal. Her company’s steady presence has been unchanged, the air between them undisturbed.

 

“I can hear your breathing,” Lust says at last, craning her neck, searching for her company in vain. 

A light flickers on above her, and General Armstrong steps into Lust’s view. Her crossed arms and pursed lips give her an air of disappointment, but Lust has a hunch that this is her typical demeanor. She slowly makes her way to the opposite end of the table, then slaps her palms against its surface.

“What  _ happened _ to you?” She asks, and Lust  _ must _ be mistaking the sympathy she hears in the other woman’s voice. 

Lust grits her teeth. “I don’t have to tell you  _ anything _ .”

Armstrong scoffs. “You would not stop shrieking when my medical staff attempted to dress you in warmer clothes. According to their reports, even touching your skin seemed to inflict pain. I cannot gain information from a dead prisoner.” Armstrong leans closer to Lust. “I will not ask again. What happened to you?”

Lust considers her situation. She knows she must proceed with caution. What had Wrath told her about the General? She has a reputation for being just as impenetrable as the very fort she guards, and is not known to mingle with the other senior military officers. 

“Are you familiar with the Flame Alchemist?” Lust settles on, and tries to reign in her feral grin when Armstrong’s lips twist into a scowl, teeth bared.

“Unfortunately,” she growls, and then stands rigid. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Lust closes her eyes, because this is  _ hard _ , damn it. “He—” and, damn it, she does not want to cry but she can feel the tears in her eyes and they do not show any signs of evaporating—

“Pull yourself together, homunculus!” Armstrong snaps. “I hardly think that idiot could do any real damage to someone with your capabilities.”

Blind with rage, Lust jerks forward. Her arms catch as she lunges, and her wrists burn from the strain of her bondage. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” she spits, and in the back of her mind she thinks this behavior is atypical of her. “He incinerated my flesh over and over again. I lost count of how many times my body was destroyed and regenerated.” Lust blinks her tears away and leans back. When she speaks next, she is sure to keep her voice smooth. “But enough about the past. All that matters is that I survived.”

At this, Armstrong smiles. “Survival of the fittest, huh? That’s the rule of life at Briggs.” Her eyes then grow cold. “I fail to understand, however, why you’re here rather than in Central. Is that not your base of operation?”

Lust’s eyes widen. “How did you know?” she asks, but then she remembers the earlier words of the General.

“ _ Don’t think you can hide from me,  _ homunculus _. I’ve defeated one of your kind before, and I can do it again. _ ”

Armstrong crosses her arms. “A representative of your little cabal tried recruiting me,” she says blandly.

“Really? Last I heard, you were not considered a candidate for—” she smirks as she speaks, “—corruption.”

A barking laugh echoes through the small room in response. “You were correct. I killed him.” And Lust had not expected that, but knowing what little she knew about the other woman, she was not entirely surprised.

“As a result, Bradley has summoned me to Central. I don’t suppose you know anything about this?”

Shaking her head, Lust replies, “I’ve been away from Central and the other Homunculi ever since my... encounter with the military.”

“And why is that?”

Lust hesitates. Armstrong has been surprisingly forthcoming with her information thus far, and, well,  _ equivalent exchange. _

“My interests no longer align with the rest of the homunculi,” Lust settles on, because, well, it isn’t a lie. “My weakness is considered a liability by those with the power to heal me. If I returned to my master, he would simply destroy me and recreate me as someone else. I like this body. I like being who I am.”

“Your master?” Armstrong asks, and  _ shit _ . “And, who might that be?”

Lust may be abandoning Father’s cause, but she has not quite gotten up the courage to actively betray him. “Buy me dinner first, sweetheart.”

—And Armstrong  _ blushes _ , a deep red, and,  _ oh _ . Lust had not anticipated this development in the slightest, but she was not going to complain. Shaking her head as if to clear it of an unwanted thought and clenching her hands into fists, Armstrong groans.

“I suppose this is what I deserve for taking the sex homunculus as a prisoner,” she grumbles, but is still visibly ruffled.

“Is that all you see me as? I’m hurt,” Lust says, voice sluicing in thick crocodile tears. “Honestly. I lust for so many other things.” She smirks. Armstrong is still a rich blood red.  _ The hunter has become the hunted. _

“ _ Please _ .”

And Lust is unsure whether Armstrong’s tone is dismissive or begging, but she relents, storing this information to be handled at a later date. At the very least, Lust is not strong enough to handle herself were the situation to get physical. She grins and leans back into her chair, casual despite being bound to it. “Sorry, darling. I get carried away sometimes.”

This was probably not the right thing to say, because Armstrong just exhales loudly through her nose as a response. She turns to leave, and Lust groans internally. Without the General, things would get pretty boring in here. 

The sound of a door opening fills the small room, and Lust waits for the telltale click of its close to let her guard down. It never comes. There is whispering between Armstrong and who must be a guard, but Lust is unable to hear it well enough to make out words. She strains her ears, but the only sounds she picks up are the brisk clack of General Armstrong’s steps as the woman walks away. At last, she hears the drag of the door swinging closed. With a final click, she is alone.  _ At least it is not dark, _ Lust thinks.  _ Armstrong is either more considerate than she appears, or she simply forgot to turn off the light. _

And, that was certainly an interesting encounter. Lust cannot help but to grin. Something in her bones feels wild with excitement. If what Armstrong had said was true, if she really had killed one of Wrath’s idiot generals... well. The idea of working with Armstrong sends shivers up Lust’s spine. Whether it is in anticipation or intimidation is unclear, but, hey. Neither of those are bad from Lust’s perspective.

_ Creaaaaaaaak _ .

Lust jumps at the sound of the door opening behind her.

“That was quick,” Lust says loftily. “You change your mind about a second round?”

The laugh that she gets in response does not belong to General Armstrong. Oops.

“I was referring to cards,” Lust adds as a short, dark-haired Aerugonian woman leans into her field of vision. Judging by the gleam in the other woman’s eyes, however, Lust knows that she has been caught in the act.

The guard raises her eyebrows, but evidently decides to humor her. “With your hands tied behind your back?”

“I never said I  _ won _ ,” is Lust’s reply, at which the guard just laughs. “Can’t blame a woman for trying.”

“Some would, I’d imagine,” the guard says. “General Armstrong’s got a reputation for being pretty stone-cold. But you do seem to have gotten further than most. Certainly further than anyone who’s been thrown into an interrogation room.”

The guard moves back behind Lust. She can hear the sound of something scratching behind her. The chair shakes slightly, as though the guard was taking great care not to disturb Lust with whatever it is she is doing.  _ Great _ . Probably preparing some sedative.

“How do you mean?” Lust asks, distracted still by the guard’s secretive actions. The only reply she gets is the sound of crackling energy followed by a bright blue light which illuminates the room. It happens so fast that Lust does not notice much change of pressure at her wrists before her binding falls to the floor. She snaps her arms in front of her and winces when her muscles creak from the sudden shift of position.

The guard takes her place at the other end of the table and salutes at Lust. “Sergeant Paola Boerio, at your service. I am to accompany you around Fort Briggs until further notice, under the orders of Major General Armstrong.”

Lust blinks. Surely this Sergeant Boerio is lying to her? Why would Armstrong order for her release after just two conversations? Lust knows that she herself could never trust like that, and she does not read General Armstrong to be so freely giving of it either. Lust’s confusion must be evident on her face, because Sergeant Boerio laughs at her. As she drops her salute, she says,

“Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are. But, as General Armstrong mentioned earlier, Briggs isn’t in her command for much longer. I figure she’s pissed enough at the goons in Central that she doesn’t mind a bloodthirsty woman wandering the halls and causing chaos. No offense,” Sergeant Boerio adds with a shrug, clearly only barely apologetic.

Lust is frowning now, because,  _ what _ ? “Do I have permission to go about the base as I see fit?”

“No,” Sergeant Boerio replies, still grinning. “You have permission to go about the base as  _ I _ see fit.”

 

—

Sergeant Boerio decides that it would be a great idea to take the nonhuman prisoner on a tour of the Briggs facilities, because, of course she does. Except her idea of a tour significantly differs from Lust’s: rather than, say, give a description of the sites they pass, Sergeant Boerio seems to have decided to go off book.

“This is mess hall,” she says, and Lust rolls her eyes, because if that was not evident by the rows of soldiers eating dinner, she does not know what would be. Lust then braces herself for whatever gossip history dictates will shortly spill out of Sergeant Boerio’s mouth. “I went down on Sandy Varelda under that table there, back when we were both Corporals. Got caught by General Armstrong herself, we did.” At this, Sergeant Boerio audibly shudders. “It was  _ awful _ .”

“I’m sure,” Lust replies, voice drier than the Ishval Desert.

“Wait!” Sergeant Boerio holds up her hand, signalling for Lust to stop. She turns towards her with conspiracy in her eyes. “Don’t look now, but Private Nichols is sitting with First Lieutenant Jamesson.  _ Everyone _ below the rank of Colonel knows that they’re sleeping together, but it’s pretty bold of them to dine so openly like that. Jamesson will  _ never _ get that promotion if the higher ups get wind of what’s going on there. And— _ oh! _ —I think Sergeant Grand is looking at me. Is she? Can you see? She’s the one with the bantu knots, she’s got yellow earrings in? Next to Marci Waters. Oh, I guess you don’t know who Marci is, either.”

Sergeant Boerio turns around and looks in whatever direction this Sergeant Grand is in. Lust follows her gaze, and sure enough, there is a woman making eyes at her guard from across the room. When Grand notices Boerio’s attention on her, she lifts a spoon of her oatmeal to her lips and begins licking it seductively. Lust figures that the whole of Briggs is working against her. Oatmeal? Really?

With a wink and a wave in the direction of Grand, Sergeant Boerio motions for Lust to follow her. Together they leave the mess hall, though Lust’s less-than-eager pace slows them down considerably.

“Is there any chance I could have a meeting with General Armstrong now?” Lust asks, though she expects the answer to still be negative. She has been shuffling behind Sergeant Boerio for a solid four hours now, and she is exhausted. Even worse, her brain is buzzing with bawdy facts about half the soldiers of Briggs.

“Nope,” Sergeant Boerio says, popping the ‘p’ and clapping her hands together for emphasis. “That, as I’ve said seven times tonight, will have to wait until tomorrow morning. The General is packing for her summons to Central. She told me to keep you occupied until then. She thought a tour of Briggs might keep you interested, seeing as you are the enemy and all.”

So she has General Armstrong to thank for these hours of tortuous boredom. “And surely you showing me all the places you and Warrant Officer Falman _ light one up _ was exactly what General Armstrong had in mind when she suggested a tour.”

It’s  _ Second Lieutenant _ Falman,” Sergeant Boerio sniffs, and it is clear she took (rightful) offense to Lust’s jab, “but yes, as a matter of fact, it was.”

At this, Lust stops in her tracks. “Excuse me?”

“Oh!” Sergeant Boerio blurts out, “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Ignore me!”

“Sergeant Boerio, what aren’t you telling me?” Lust asks, though her tone makes her words sound more like a demand. Boerio refuses to meet her eyes.

“Don’t tell the General that I told!” She says, voice pleading. Her eyes are on the ground. Smart girl; she must be aware of how pissed Lust is. “General Armstrong ordered me to keep you distracted until it was time for bed. She suggested that I annoy you with gossip to fill the time, because there’s only so much of the fort I can show to civilians, regardless of their allegiance to Amestris.”

Lust is not sure what she expected from General Armstrong, but this is not it. “General Armstrong ordered you to waste my time?” She says, since this does seem rather implausible.

Sergeant Boerio jumps a bit at that. She quickly places her arms across her chest, her wrists overlapping. Taking cue from the guilty expression on Boerio’s face, Lust figures it must be some manner of an Aerugonian gesture of apology. After making eye contact with Lust, Boerio bows, her curly dark hair bouncing in front of her face.

“I’m sorry for deceiving you,” she mumbles. She coughs. Louder this time, and more confident, she says, “Sorry.”

Lust does not care much for arbitrary apology. Without speaking, she waves a hand in Sergeant Boerio’s direction. From its position in the air, Lust guides her hand to her forehead. She lets out a sigh. She has several options, but none of them feel as enticing as ditching her appointed jailer-cum-tour guide and seeking out the General for the night. To talk, of course. She does not laugh at her thoughts, but she does allow herself to exhale quickly through her nose in a silent snort. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the Major General is, would you?” Lust asks. Sergeant Boerio perks up at her words.

“She’s usually on the wall around this time,” Boerio tells her. “I ‘spect she’ll want to be there now especially, since she’s being called to Central indefinitely.”

_ How much do the Briggs soldiers know about Olivier’s situation? _ Lust decides not to press it, because the last way to get on Olivier’s good side would be to spread rumors about her actions. Well. It does not appear as though Olivier particularly cares one way or another which side of Lust she is on, judging by this whole charade which Lust still does not understand. 

“Will that be all?” Lust replies. “Am I free to seek her out by myself?”

Oh, that probably was not the right question to ask. Sergeant Boerio’s brown skin adopts a greenish hue, and her eyes bug wide. Lust cannot help but give a mental chuckle at the sight of her frantically waving her arms about, and for the first time, Lust notices a series of alchemical arrays tattooed in white along her forearms. The only one Lust recognizes is an array meant for growing vines instantaneously. ( _ Nash Tringham, Winter of 1891, Xenotime. _ ) She is also, Lust spots with a wry sort of amusement, holding a piece of chalk between her index and middle fingers as though it were a cigarette. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Boerio shakes her flat palms as she says this, “Did I  _ ever _ say you could just wander around? No? Well, I didn’t. If I did, it was a mistake. You can’t just—“

“Do you know who, _what_ I am?” Lust interrupts, voice menacing. As it were, she is simultaneously checking her nails. “I am an artificially created being. A homunculus.” Boerio gulps, but stands her ground. “I could kill you in the blink of an eye.”

Sergeant Boerio frowns and pouts her bottom lip. “I think you would have already tried to kill me if you were planning on it.” She chuckles dryly. “Hell, that’s probably why General Armstrong chose me for this mission! She knows I can defend myself.” At this, she shakes her tattooed arms. “Besides, General Armstrong debriefed several of us enlisted alchemists, as well as all of the officers, while you were out cold. No pun intended. Dunno why, but you’re out of commission as far as killing is concerned.”

With her words, her  _taunts_ , having been spoken, Sergeant Boerio jerks her head in the direction of one of the many elevator doors Lust had been so elegantly introduced to on her tour of Briggs. Lust scowls at her.

“Come on, now. We might as well see if General Armstrong is up there.”

Lust snaps her head back in Sergeant Boerio’s direction. This woman could not be serious! After everything the General had done to keep her away from the action, Lust is fairly certain that she will not be particularly pleased upon seeing her. Be that as it may, Sergeant Boerio has already made her way to the elevator door and currently has a finger pressed against the  _ up  _ arrow. Resigned to her fate of a meeting with an angry general, Lust walks towards the elevator.

The elevator arrives with a crisp  _ ding _ and as it opens Lust cannot help but notice that Sergeant Boerio is reaching into the small tote bag she has been carrying and is pulling out a pair of white gloves. She puts them on with obvious practice as she steps into the elevator.

“Can you hit the button for me?” Sergeant Boerio asks, and when Lust looks at her she is putting on a fluffy blue scarf. Where she had gotten it is a mystery to Lust. “It’s not the top button,“ she says. “It’s labeled UL. I think it stands for upper level, but there are some jokes that go around. I won’t bore you with the details; I’m sure you’ve had enough of the gossip around here.”

Lust obliges her, and indeed there are higher buttons. She supposes the elevator must go up to turrets, or other such observation tower on the fort wall. With another _ding_ , the doors shut closed, and their ascent begins. The feeling of the shifting atmospheric pressure causes Lust’s head to spin. It makes sense, she rationalizes, considering the condition she is still recovers from.

They are on floor 42 when Sergeant Boerio turns in Lust’s direction and looks her up and down. “Are you sure that you will be comfortable in that outfit?” She rummages through her bag once more. “I might have a spare set of gloves, or maybe a hat? S'just, you just look so chilly already, and we’re not even outside yet."

Despite her non-human abilities, Lust is not resistant to the cold. She can get frostbite just as any other carbon life form, albeit less severe, as she would heal quicker than the average human. She looks at her hands, raw with the cracks from the cold, and then up at Sergeant Boerio.

“That would be…” Her voice trails off, because no one has really ever asked her if she needed anything before. If anyone were to see this and bring it up she would blame it on her weakened state. “That would be nice." She knows her voice sounds small, but the higher up they go, the more nervous she gets at facing the General. What will she say? She cannot exactly tell the truth, that she’s looking for someone to make her a Philosopher's Stone, but she doesn’t want to lie to General Armstrong, either. She wants this woman as an ally at all costs, against both Father and Mustang.

_ And whoever else gets thrown in our way,  _ Lust adds to herself. 

With a twinkle in her brown-black eyes, Sergeant Boerio continues searching through her bag. After a few moments (still not at the top of the wall) she makes a triumphant noise of discovery and pulls out an Amestrian blue scarf and white gloves—standard issue for enlisted soldiers sent to Briggs, no doubt. 

“Here,” she says, and her voice is kind. Lust does  _ not _ understand this woman’s personality. The elevator glides to a halt just as she hands over the winter gear. The _ding_ of the door opening is echoed against the icy metal around them, almost so much so as to drown out her next words. “As much as General Armstrong would love to keep seeing y—oh!” She thrusts the scarf and gloves into Lust’s torso, her suddenly alarm-filled eyes glued elsewhere. Lust turns, only to meet the General's icy glare.

“Good evening, General Armstrong,“ Lust says in weak greeting.

“Major General! I didn’t realize you would be here. I was just…” She looks around, clearly flustered by the turn of events. “I figured our special guest might want to see the beautiful view.” Her words are more question than statement, but General Armstrong pays her no mind.

“Homunculus,” she begins. She takes a breath to speak, but Lust cuts her off before she can continue. 

“I have a name,” Lust protests. “And—what was all this? Ordering Sergeant Boerio to bother me all afternoon?”

Armstrong scoffs. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you out in the tundra for the Briggs Mountain bears—or worse, for one of my men—to  _ deal with _ you. It is I who has the power here, and I will address you as I see fit.” She looks down at Lust, her characteristically Amestrian blue eyes adding to the freezing atmosphere.

Unsure of how to respond, Lust slips on the white loan gloves. Even though she feels more vulnerable with a layer of wool between her weak Ultimate Spear and the outside world. _Damn_ , Lust thinks. _As I am right now, I am completely defenseless. Perhaps any alliance with the General will be beneficial to me in more ways than just one._

As she takes hold of the ends of the scarf, she realizes that there might be a problem. With all of her hair, she is not quite sure how she is going to wrap the scarf around her neck. It will be quite a scene for sure, and she is not positive that her hair is thawed out yet from her earlier exposure in the blizzard. She sighs, resigned to her tangled fate, when General Armstrong walks over to her and lifts up her hair so that she can wrap the scarf around. And, _damn_. She really had not expected this – this feeling she feels, as well as the General’s hot-and-cold behavior towards her. _Perhaps_ , she thinks, _perhaps some good can come out of nearly dying after all._

“So,“ Armstrong begins, still lifting up Lust’s hair. “Why have you come here? I assume it is because you need something.”

“Oh,“ Lust says intelligently as she feels her hair bounce down on her back. How could she explain what she needs: dozens of human lives in order to sustain her life? 

While she is cold in demeanor, Armstrong does not seem to Lust like the type of person to be comfortable with the slaughter of innocents for the sake of prolonging another’s life, especially when the person in question is an artificial being. At the very least, that is what Wrath had told her when the topic of recruiting Armstrong had first come up.

With that being said, Lust sees no reason to lie, especially if she wishes to have General Armstrong on her side. And, boy, does she ever.

“I require the help of an alchemist,” Lust admits, glancing up from her hand. Her tone is casual and her movements fluid, but she can tell by the narrowing of the General’s eyes that her duplicity is transparent. Good. Lust would  _ love _ to have such a woman as an ally.

The General, however, turns away. Her gloved hands grip at the railing, and Lust is unable to read her. “I do not possess that particular skill set,” she says, voice quiet and sharp. “Nor do I have the time to entertain whatever revenge scheme you’ve got floating through your head.”

“Who said anything about revenge?” Last asks, and while she tries to keep her voice Cory, she does not think she is successful. “ honest general, I just want to heal myself. Is that such a terrible desire?”

The incredulity in general Armstrong‘s expression is clear, despite her facing the opposite direction. It feels as though wavelengths of disbelief and dissed trust were emitting from her very being, her very soul. But as she turns around, Lust can see that Armstrong’s face is blank. When she replies, it is in one of the most controlled monotones Lust has ever heard.

“If healing yourself was as easy as going to a medical doctor, I would be tripping over myself in order to help you.” Despite her dry cadence, Lust does not disbelieve her. "Trust me, I have no love for the State Alchemists. However, you are no mere mortal. I know what you were looking for. I know how it is made.” The General flashes a firm glance in the still-present Sergeant Boerio’s direction. “Sergeant Boerio, you did your duty well. Have the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, oh!“ Sergeant Boerio says quickly, as if she had not been immensely invested in the unfolding conversation between the other two women. Lust understand her need for information; she herself, were she in Boerio’s shoes (and she is in her gloves, so she figures she has some insight into the woman psyche) would have been just as eager to know what exactly was going on in the shadows of the military. “I – yes, of – of course, Major General Armstrong, sir.”

With a firm yet reluctant salute, Sergeant Boerio turns back towards the elevator. Luckily for her, the elevator had not visited any other levels in between the time they arrived at the top of the Wall of Briggs and the present. As she enters, she looks back at the two other women with controlled suspicion. 

Lust is silent and still as she watches the meter at the top of the elevator tell her the floor it passes. She can truthfully say that she doesn’t think anyone else in the entire Fort is as interested in what they’re talking about as Sergeant Boerio is, though she does not voice this. After a few moments, she walks over to the parapet Armstrong leans against. She mimics the General’s stance, resting her arms lightly on the rail, hands hanging over the edge.

“So,“ General Armstrong says at last as she turns her full, intense attention towards Lust. “You need a Philosopher’s Stone.”

_ Well _ , Lust thinks.  _ At least I didn’t have to break it to her, what I’m made of. _

“It is true,” Lust says, “I do seek someone who can make a Philosopher's Stone. Or, at the very least, strengthen the one I already have.”

Armstrong exhales smoothly through her nose and she closes her eyes. She places her hand over the bottom half of her face, mind clearly unsettled. Lust understands, even if she cannot relate. Many of those few she had revealed her identity to personally in her two centuries or so of living have had similar reactions. It is one thing to understand how a Philosopher’s Stone is made, that homunculi are made with one, and even to know Lust as a homunculus; it is another matter entirely to have to face the truth of,  _ oh _ ,  _ thousands of people have been killed, and will continue to be killed, to create and sustain the eternal life of the woman they stand before.  _

In the next moment, however, Lust is certain that General Armstrong is not cut from the same mold as those who have come before her.

“I have killed many men and women in the name of protecting this country. Soldiers they may have been, yes, but real, human people with real, human lives nonetheless. Some would say that I killed General Raven in cold blood. Does that make  _ me _ a monster?” Armstrong snorts. “I hardly think so. The Fullmetal Alchemist informed me of your little Lab Five experiments, and even then, I find it difficult to denounce the use of condemned prisoners for the sake of progress. But I also am aware that  _ genocide _ has been committed for the sake of such a goal. That, I cannot condone.”

Mentally, Lust makes note to  _ never _ tell her where her own souls have come from. She looks out at the Briggs Mountain range in the distance and leans forward, resting all her weight on her arms.

“That being said,” Armstrong continues, and Lust looks back up. Her eyes meet Armstrong’s directly. “I am leaving for Central tomorrow. Bradley himself has summoned me, and I intend to tell him the truth: I did kill General Raven, and I would do it again.” She grins, though it is most definitely  _ not _ the result of innocent joy. Lust gets the impression that she is trying, and succeeding, to emulate a shark. “I plan to spin my story so that he thinks I am on his side. If I play my cards right, it would be very easy for me to gain access to top-secret military research that might be able to help you.”

Lust’s returned smile is more cautious, suggestive. “Are you inviting me along for the ride?” She asks, and though she did just make the long trip up from Central, she figures she will have a better chance of recovery living in the famous Armstrong mansion than in whatever she could have found in Drachma. To be honest, Lust is not even entirely certain that they  _ have _ alchemists in Drachma.

“I just think it will be very easy for me to ask questions about Philosopher’s Stones, with my rank being what it is.” Armstrong crosses her arms, pride written across her face. “If you are honest about your intention to stop your master’s plan, then I see no reason not to help you become strong again. Having a homunculi on this side of the war will be most useful.”

Through half-lidded lashes, Lust says, “And if I have been being dishonest?”

Armstrong waves her words away with a flippant hand. “I sic Sergeant Boerio on most unwanted, or untrusted, visitors. If they have ill intent towards me or my men, they usually make it clear within the first hour of having to listen to her incessant gossip. You lasted, what, four hours? Most impressive.”

Lust’s right eye twitches. “Ah.”

Armstrong hums haughtily. “I’ve learned that oftentimes, a human’s nature is most evident when they are interacting with those they perceive as nuisances. Sergeant Boerio is excellent at playing that role: it took General Raven not twenty minutes to cause a scene with her.”

“Is that why you killed him?” Lust asks, humored, and she feels a snowflake fall on her arm. Several more follow, and in the time between Lust’s question and Armstrong’s response, the snow begins to pick up considerably.

“Officially, I killed him because he foolishly revealed the secrets of the Homunculi to me, completely unprompted. How could possibly I let such a loose-lipped imbecile get away with that?” She turns towards Lust with her whole body and gestures for her to follow. She makes a slow route to the elevator shaft, and Lust moves to walk beside her. “But, between you and me, I just found him annoying. Make of that what you will about  _ my _ human nature.”

 

—

The military train is, Lust must admit, much more comfortable than the mix of train hopping and walking she had taken on her way up north. General Armstrong sits across from her, though the two have been sitting in silence for the thirty minutes they’ve been sharing the front compartment. Armstrong’s legs are folded casually, and she leans against the window, chin resting on knuckles as she watches the endless expanse of winter scenery.

It is the first time Lust is able to really get a good look at General Armstrong. Even in military uniform, Lust cannot ignore the sharp line of her broad, muscled shoulders, so that is naturally where her eyes drift first. And that brings her attention to Armstrong’s breasts, though these are, rather unfortunately, obscured by blue lapels.

_ Why hasn’t she removed her jacket? _ Lust thinks.  _ It’s not as though it’s cold in the cabin. _ Indeed, Lust has been feeling rather warm since boarding the train with Olivier, and her dress is not exactly in want of fabric to begin with.  _ Oh well, _ Lust thinks, because the way Olivier is sitting with her legs crossed gives Lust a perfect view of her muscled thigh. She only wishes Olivier was turned at a more extreme angle; all Lust can see of her behind is leaving her unfulfilled.

After more than a minute of this appreciative staring, she allows her gaze to wander up to Armstrong’s face, and—

“Is there something on my uniform?” Armstrong asks bluntly, and Lust has been caught in the act.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been staring at me for quite some time,” Armstrong says, and there is  _ no way _ she is this oblivious. She repeats herself. “Is there something on my uniform that is upsetting you?”

Apparently, she is. Lust shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. I was just sightseeing.”

Armstrong blinks, then blushes. She folds her arms and turns back to the window, and Lust swears she hears her mumble something about “damn sex homunculi.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Lust says, lying. “I can tone myself down, if it would make you more comfortable.” She would do no such thing.

“It’s fine,” Armstrong says loudly, body still pointing away from her. Lust sighs. This trip will be very boring if she doesn’t get the General to open up a bit.

Lust sits up straighter, and decides to take a calculated risk. “Olivier—may I call you Olivier?”

At the sound of her first name, Armstrong freezes. In her reflection in the window, Lust can see how wide her eyes have gone. It’s a gorgeous sight, for sure, and Lust relishes in the control she already has over this woman.

“Absolutely not!” she shouts, but Lust decides that will not stop her.

“I’ll just stick with Olivier,” Lust replies casually. “So, Olivier, what do you want to do once we reach Central? After manipulating my former cohorts, obviously.”

Olivier turns to face Lust. Her face is red, though whether its in anger or some flavor of embarrassment, Lust is unable to pinpoint. “You will respect my rank, and address me as  _ General _ .”

Lust smirks. “Oh, fine. General Olivier, what do you want to do once we reach Central?”

Olivier throws her hands up into the air. “You are impossible,” she complains. “No wonder Mustang tried to kill you.”

Pursing her lips, Lust replies, “Mustang tried to kill me because I fatally stabbed him and his subordinate. But nice try, General Olivier.”

Olivier lets out a groan that Lust is pretty sure means that she has resigned herself to her fate. “Fine. Call me what you will, homunculus.”

“Homunculus? How distant,” Lust teases. “You are, quite literally, saving my life. Being on a first-name basis goes both ways, as many things do.”

“I don’t believe in equivalent exchange,” Olivier grumbles, and Lust isn’t sure if she had intended on the double entendre, but she sure hopes she did.

“My name really  _ is _ Lust, by the way,” Lust tells her. “It’s not just a nickname. I’ve had many aliases over the last few centuries, though.”

At this, Olivier jerks her full attention towards Lust. “Centuries—just how old are you?” She asks, incredulous. It’s a brilliant look on her.

Lust’s eyes roll up in thought. “Between two and three hundred, I’d wager. Nonconsecutive, though. There was a couple decades when my master needed his lust, so...” she shrugs. Olivier blinks. “It’s hard to explain,” Lust says with a hand-wave, “He creates us from his own emotions? It’s a long story. Definitely of a ‘buy me dinner first’ caliber.”

“Oh,” Olivier says, “Alright, er, Lust.”

Yeah, Lust had not really anticipated this fluttery feeling at the sound of Olivier addressing her by name, but she is pretty certain that she is comfortable with it.

“So, General Olivier,” Lust begins, pausing to think of a question. She runs a hand through her hair as Olivier says,

“Just call me Olivier.”

Despite the tired tone of Olivier’s voice, Lust feels extremely accomplished. “Wonderful!” She says. “You never answered my first question, I don’t think.”

Olivier furrows her blonde brows. “Your first...? Oh.” She takes a moment to continue speaking, likely to consider Lust’s earlier words. “I will visit my mother and father; they have a mansion just outside Central City. My younger sister, Catherine, lives with them as well. I am eager to see how she is doing with her studies. She’s currently attending Central University, and I haven’t been down to visit since she began.”

Lust folds her legs under her on the seat. “That’s fascinating! What is she studying?”

At this question, Olivier’s blue eyes light up. “Musical alchemy, if you can believe it. She and her professor are pioneering the field, or so I’ve heard. I admittedly do not know, or care, much about alchemy, but I am happy that she is happy.”

“Are you the only non-alchemist amongst your siblings?” Lust asks, and she is shocked at how genuine her interest is. “Your brother is a State Alchemist, is he not?”

Olivier rolls her eyes. “Catherine is much more qualified than he, certainly. But yes, I am the only non-alchemist. I was educated enough on the theory, and maybe I could perform it if I tried, but I have no desire to. I prefer a more hands-on approach to life.”

Lust wants to make a suave suggestion as to what Olivier ought to put her hands on, but holds herself back. Barely. “I myself cannot perform alchemy in the traditional sense,” Lust confides, “but I do have alchemically-fueled powers that I control at will. It’s tied to my Philosopher’s Stone; currently, since my Stone is, well, dying, I cannot use them.”

“And that would be your regeneration abilities?” Olivier asks, and she seems to have a genuine curiosity in the subject.

Lust nods. “That, and my Ultimate Spear, among other things. Technically, I have no need for food or sleep, either; I just like those things.”

“Interesting,” is all Olivier says in reply, and she leans back into the cushioned bench.

Fearing the conversation growing quiet, Lust pipes up with another question. “What’s your favorite food?” At Olivier’s expression of surprise, Lust adds, “Mine is probably ravioli. My master once sent me, Greed, and Gluttony—this was before Greed went rogue—to scout out Aerugo, to see it’s potential for, well, conquering. Between the three of us, we mostly just conquered the food.”

Olivier laughs. “We must have similar taste, then! If I had to pick, I would go with pierogies. One of the perks of living on the border with Drachma, I suppose.”

“I’ve never had them,” Lust admits, nor has she heard of them.

“They’re similar in concept to ravioli,” Olivier explains. “Have you never been to Drachma?”

Lust shakes her head. “This visit to Briggs is the farthest north I’ve ever travelled. I’m not really sure what motivated me to seek refuge in Drachma, other than I know my master would not look to find me there. He knows how terrible my Drachman is.”

“What languages do you know?” Olivier asks, and Lust is pleased that she has opened up enough to be the instigator of questions.

Lust holds her gloved palm in front of her, fingers stretched to count. “Amestrian, obviously. Xerxesian, if you’ll believe it; and my Aerugonian is passable.”

“Xerxesian?” Olivier asks, clearly intrigued. “Ancient or Alchemical?”

“Both,” Lust says. “Well,” she amends, “Ancient, mainly. But Alchemical is similar enough. The difference is in the grammar.”

“Yes, but there’s a reason for that!” Olivier laughs. “Ancient Xerxesian grammar is impossible. Mother and Father had me study it for years.”

“ _ Nonne! _ ” Lust exclaims. “ _ Ignoravi non alchemistae edidicerunt Xerxis linguam! _ ”

“ _ Ita _ ,” Olivier replies sheepishly. “ _Tamen_ _ , non potior quam tuam. _ ”

Lust laughs. “You speak with an Amestrian accent,” Lust says, and Olivier presses her lips together in a resigned manner. “It’s cute,” she adds with a wink.

“Er,” Olivier stutters. “Thanks?”

“Your welcome,” Lust replies. “Now, and here is an important question, and there  _ is _ a correct response: what is your astrological sign?”

 

—

They arrive in Central without much fanfare, which is lucky for Lust. If one of the corrupt officers—or, Truth forbid,  _ Bradley _ —had been at the station to greet Olivier, their entire charade would be over in the blink of an eye.  _ No pun intended _ , Lust thinks sourly. She looks up at the familiar Central sky as Olivier leads her up the steps to the Armstrong mansion. She can only hope that Father had not sensed her arrival in Central the moment she arrived.

“Mother? Father? Catherine?” Olivier calls out as she opens the door. “Are you home?”

“Olivier!” A voice booms out from a nearby room, and Olivier groans loudly. With a bang, an ornate door opens forcefully and a large man Lust recognizes as Major Alex Louis Armstrong bursts out with large, open arms. “How pleasant it is to see you!”

“Piss off,” Olivier shouts. “I didn’t come all the way to Central to be forced to talk with a spineless coward such as yourself.” Major Armstrong tries to hug her nonetheless, and Lust cannot help but giggle at the sight of Olivier holding back the giant man with only a hand against his forehead.

Her laugh catches Major Armstrong’s attention, and he gives up his pursuit of Olivier to greet Lust. He does not seem to recognize her, which is a good start; all she has disguising her identity at the moment is a cloak around her shoulders and her hair in a bun.

“Olivier!” Armstrong bellows. Why is this man so  _ loud _ ? “You still haven’t introduced me to your lovely companion!”

Olivier sighs, exasperated, and runs a hand through her hair. “That is because I only just arrived,” she mutters. She then looks up at Lust, fondness in her eyes. “This is,” she says, then freezes, because calling her Lust would be the equivalent of outing her homunculus status.

“Solaris,” Lust drawls. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Olivier has told me much about you, Major Armstrong.”

“Call me Alex!” He pats her on the head with a large hand. “Any friend of Olivier’s is a friend of mine!”

“Right,” Olivier says, annoyed, though Lust is not really sure why. “We have been travelling for several days, Alex, and I’m sure Lust is dead on her feet. Kindly allow us to retire, if mother and father are not here...?”

Alex claps his hands together. “You just missed them! They are out attending one of Catherine’s recitals. I myself was about to leave, so you will have the mansion to yourself for the night. I have a meeting at work.”

“That’s wonderful for Catherine. I’ll have to tell her I am sorry I missed it.” Olivier turns towards Lust. “Come. I’ll give you a tour of the mansion.”

With a hand on her hip, Lust replies, “Will this one contain naughty anecdotes?”

Major Armstrong’s loud laugh fills the entire atrium. “Gave you the old Boerio treatment, did you? Trained that one myself, back in the day.”

“Yes,” Olivier grits out, clearly impatient to leave her brother’s company. “L-Solaris, come.”

“As you wish,” Lust tells her, though she does wave farewell to Major Armstrong as she follows Olivier’s footsteps.

They go directly to what Lust assumes is Olivier’s bedroom. With a whistle, Lust raises her eyebrows at Olivier. “Fancy.”

Olivier rolls her eyes. “Father always did have a flair for extravagance. He must have done over the room while I was away.” She walks over to the bed and runs a hand across the comforter before taking a seat. “At least the sheets are clean.”

“Indeed,” Lust says, though she does not want to risk offending Olivier by sitting on her bed.

“There are clothes in the closet to your right,” Olivier tells her, pointing in the direction of a closed white door. “They might be slightly ill-fitting, but they’re better than your dress. It doesn’t do much to cover up your ouroboros tattoo.”

Is it weird to feel giddy at the thought of wearing Olivier’s clothes? Lust hopes not.

“I have not given much thought to how I will disguise myself,” Lust says, and she is glad that she does not say anything embarrassing, given where her mind had been sinking to.

“Cutting your hair may be a good place to start,” Olivier says, and Lust scowls. Olivier chuckles. “You must admit, it does catch many eyes.”

“That  _ is _ the point, Olivier,” Lust says, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at herself with her left hand. “They don’t call me Lust the Lascivious for my firm handshake alone.”

At this, Olivier laughs heartily. “You got me there,  _ mea cultella _ .”

 

—

“I love your hair!”

Lust spins around, her short, crisp bob brushing against her chin. The only person looking at her is a young blonde woman in practical clothes, a toolkit of some type in her hands. 

Lust smiles at the woman over her sunglasses. “Thank you,” she replies. “Yours is just as beautiful!”

The young woman grins at that, and Lust belatedly recognizes her as Winry Rockbell, an automail engineer who  _ ought _ to be practicing in Rush Valley.  _ The Elrics are her brothers, _ Lust thinks,  _ and if she’s all the way out here in Central, that must mean— _

“Winry!” Lust stiffens, because that is unmistakably the voice of Alphonse Elric, and

“Winry? Why’d you run off!” That’s Edward Elric, that’s the Fullmetal Alchemist—

Lust pushes up her sunglasses just as a short blonde boy runs to a halt in front of her. He quickly steadies himself with his hands outstretched before he scowls and says, “Hey, lady! Whatcha doin’ with Winry?”

Lust blinks. “Excuse me?”  _ This _ is how it feels to interact with the Fullmetal Alchemist as a normal civilian?

Alphonse Elric quickly steps between the two, having only just caught up to his brother. “Brother, shut up! Even if this woman was dangerous, we know Winry could handle it herself!”

Fullmetal turns away, grumbling something rude in concession.

“ _ And _ ,” Alphonse continues, voice growing sheepish. “Sorry about my brother. He’s pretty thick-headed sometimes.”

“It’s... it’s no bother,” Lust says, slowly. There is so much she could be saying, doing right now. These boys are so important to Father’s plan, which—Lust wants to stop it, right? But at what cost?

A hand that looks like Olivier’s slaps Lust’s brain out of the abyss it had been exploring. Right. Protagonists  _ do not  _ kill children. (Lust briefly files that logic in her “reasons to kill Roy Mustang” folder.)

“Hey, have I seen you before?” Fullmetal says, jaw cocked, voice stubborn.

Lust swallows. “No, I don’t think so.” She tries to lace a little trace of an Ishvalan accent into her words.

Fullmetal frowns and puts what Lust knows to be his automail fingers under his chin. “I could’a sworn I’d seen you before!”

“Maybe,” she says, cautiously, as he points at her and squints an eye, “I am new here, to Central. I am from out East.”

“East, huh?” Fullmetal says, “Ever been through Risembool?”

“Risembool,” Lust says as though she’s pondering the word. Of course Lust knows Risembool, where her she would often scout out the two odd Elric brothers. She can see the rustling grass and the rolling hills and, yes, the house that once stood mournfully overlooking graves cast in orange twilight. “I might have been through once or twice over the past decade or so.”

“Hmm,” Fullmetal says, seemingly satisfied. He turns away, motioning for his taller companions to follow him. “C’mon you two, let’s find somewhere to eat. I’m starving!”

Winry Rockbell and Alphonse exchange equivalent looks of confusion before shrugging at each other. They, too, turn and walk up to the edge of the street. Lust watches as they catch up to the Fullmetal Alchemist just as the Fullmetal Alchemist decides to make a sprint for a food stand at the other end of the block. Lust grins as they bolt after him, and turns away when the three of them stop in front of the cart. She begins walking back to the manor, grocery bags weighing her arms and the previous moments weighing on her heart.

 

—

When Lust arrives back home, Olivier is lounging on their couch, waiting for her. “You won’t believe who I met with today,” she hisses, a storm in her eyes. “ _ Mustang. _ ”

Lust pats the top of Olivier’s head with a soft hand, then frowns. “Is he back on active duty? Damn, I had hoped I did more damage than that.” 

Olivier rolls her eyes. She adjusts her body as Lust sits down next to her, then wraps an arm around Lust’s shoulders. “He is such an asshole,” she groans, flopping her head back onto the top of the couch. “I have to work with him. It’s a nightmare.”

Lust laughs. “Well, you’ll never guess who  _ I  _ ran into today. Winry Rockbell, and the Elric brothers.”

“Oh?” Olivier says, lifting her head. “Yeah? I had wondered when we would run into them. They were involved in the whole,” she waves her hand dismissively from its position on Lust’s shoulder, “ _ Thing _ with General Raven. I trust them more than I trust Mustang.”

“I, too, though perhaps for different reasons,” Lust mumbles. Louder, she says, “The Fullmetal almost recognized me, but I was able to deflect him.”

“Yes,” Olivier says, “Perhaps it would be unwise to reveal your identity so soon to the Elric brothers and their allies. “

“You are probably right,” Lust replies. “Though I can’t imagine you have had any success with determining what it is they are up to? It is rather close to the Promised Day.”

Olivier shakes her head. “They have not contacted me, no. But that is no matter. I trust the Elrics to get the job done at the very least. And if they’ve got the Rockbell woman with them, that confidence is through the roof. From what I saw of her, she is very capable.”

Lust nods. “Yes, that is correct. I only hope they aren’t playing into Father’s hands.”

 

—

It finally happens during one of their research sessions in the Armstrong family library. Lust is re-reading one of Nash Tringham’s research papers with her head in Olivier’s lap, and Olivier is absentmindedly running her fingers through Lust’s hair as she reads an Ancient Xerxesian alchemical text that looks as though it was hand-picked from the ruins of the city itself. The few candles lighting the room flicker lowly, but neither Lust nor Olivier feel bothered enough to light more.

“What does this say, here?” Olivier asks, and points to a sentence in the book. Lust runs her finger across the page, brushing delicately against Olivier’s own as she does so. Lust does not think she imagines the shiver which blossoms through Olivier. In the dim light, Lust cannot read the fading script, and though she loathes to do so, she sits up half-way, leaning her body weight on her arm.

_ That was definitely a whine _ , Lust realizes. She knows Olivier feels  _ something _ towards her, but Lust has not so far been able to identify what those feelings are. Lust has been overt about her physical attraction to Olivier since day one, and she suspects Olivier is similarly attracted based on the way Lust is able to easily rile her up. 

Lust looks up at Olivier, completely mystified. Olivier is looking down at her, expectant. Lust pauses.  _ What is she wanting for me to do? Does she feel the tension in the air? Is she waiting for me to make the first move? _

Olivier clears her throat, and she now seems... embarrassed? Her eyes dart to Lust’s lips, and Lust gasps; her eyes then dart down to the book she holds out in her hand.

“Oh! Right,” Lust says, and now it is her turn to feel embarrassment. She squints at the page, following the guide of Olivier’s well-maintained nail. “ _ Ille tempus uti... _ ” She mutters the text under her breath, feeling sleepy with her proximity to Olivier. “Oh, what nonsense,” Lust says at last. “It’s the ramblings of the idiot king of Xerxes. He’s just repeating the lies Father told him about the creation of Philosopher’s Stones. The word you’re struggling with, that’s what they called him. My master.”

Lust looks back up at Olivier, and she is grateful that she has already explained everything about Father to her, because she the world is spinning. The world grows a bit darker, and Lust is only vaguely aware that one of the candles has burned out behind her.

“Oh,” Olivier says, and carefully sets the book on the side table next to her. Her eyes never once leave Lust’s, however, and a wisp of smoke rises from behind her as another candle reaches its end. “I suppose I’m done for the night, then.”

“Yes,” Lust agrees, and her voice is hoarse. Neither of them make any sign of moving; they are both tired, yes, but Lust senses something in her bones wants her to stay exactly where she is.

Olivier’s cheeks have darkened, and her eyes again drift towards Lust’s mouth. Another candle’s flame dies, and only one remains. Its weak crackle is the only accompaniment to the sounds of Lust and Olivier’s unsteady breathing.

“Lust, I—” Olivier begins, hesitates, and looks down at her empty hands. Lust follows her gaze. Olivier’s hands are clenched lightly into fists, but they do not feel angry. Lust looks back at Olivier’s face, and Olivier is looking into Lust’s eyes as though she has never seen the sun before and is seeing it for the first time, and Lust—

Lust is leaning forward, and,  _ oh _ , Olivier’s lip gloss is going to taste  _ amazing _ on her tongue. With that thought pulling her forward, however, a hand on her chest pulls her back. Lust opens her eyes and looks into Olivier’s. Her pupils are dilated, but that could easily be the low light of the single candle, and besides, even if Olivier does want her, it doesn’t mean she wants  _ this _ . Now. Or ever.

“Wait,” Olivier whispers, and Lust’s heart continues beating, because  _ wait _ implies the potential of a future something more than  _ stop _ . Still, Lust knows she ought to cover her boundaries. She flicks herself mentally for forgetting to confirm Olivier’s feelings for her beforehand.

Lust puts her hands over the one Olivier had placed on her chest. “Did I misinterpret your feelings towards me?” She asks softly. “If that is the case, I can try to contain my own.”

“Believe it or not, I do care for you,” Olivier says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Lust cannot help herself; she smiles warmly at Olivier. “Why wouldn’t I believe you? You have done nothing to imply that you do not, platonically or otherwise.”

The tiny smile Olivier offers in return can only be described as  _ raw _ . “When you first came to me, I...” The hesitation in her voice, clear as the sky over the Ishvalan Desert, pierces Lust’s heart with its honesty. “This isn’t - I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just, well. Very unused to others showing interest in me that isn’t,” she leans her head from side to side, “Isn’t in a violent manner.”

“I think I understand,” Lust says, because she has definitely had people objectify her dangerousness before.

“But you don’t let it hold you back,” Olivier replies. There is so much emotion in her voice that Lust is unable to identify any specific one. “I have avoided relationships of all kinds for as long as I can remember, and because of who I am, those relationships have avoided me, too.”

“Oh, Olivier—” Lust begins, but Olivier silences her with a finger to her lips. The warmth is too tempting to prevent herself from leaning into in slightly, and though she falls silent, her lips remain parted. 

“I don’t want, or need, your pity.” Her voice is sharp now, but still authentic. She pulls away from Lust and leans back into the couch they sit on. “I’m just letting you know what to expect.”

And Olivier seems to be avoiding Lust’s gaze, but that certainly sounded as if—

“So,” Lust begins, pulse quickening, “Are you saying that you  _ are _ interested in exploring this? Us?” Her voice grows gentle at the last word.

Olivier still does not turn to look at her, and is still until Lust rests one hand on Olivier’s knee. She jumps slightly, but she leans towards Lust’s side and looks at her from the corner of her eyes. For the first time, Lust notices that she is taller than Olivier when they are sitting down, though this could be due to Olivier’s relaxed position.

“If you are willing to indulge me,” Olivier says, and now she sounds sheepish, and Lust cannot stop a giggle from bubbling out from her chest.

“You do realize I am the very embodiment of lust,” she says. “I would love to indulge you in whatever you want to be indulged in!”

“Fair,” Olivier concedes. She sits up straighter. “Well?”

Lust bites her lip. In her moment of honesty, Olivier did give Lust a moment of thought unclouded by the red haze of desire, and there are some things she ought to come clean about as well.

“In the spirit of equivalent exchange,” Lust begins as Olivier rolls her eyes, “I should also be honest with you about  _ my  _ past.” Olivier only barely stiffens, but it is enough for Lust to notice the physical reaction to her words. “You know about me, about  _ what  _ I am, and what that entails.” She  _ really  _ does not wish to have this conversation, but it must be had. It would not be fair to Olivier if they do not. “I will just say it. My list of lovers is long, and my list of lovers who have suffered casualties at my hand has almost as many names.”

At this, Olivier inhales sharply through her nose. She does not, Lust notices, make any move to put space between them, and for that, Lust is hopeful. “I see,” Olivier says, but Lust does not think it is true.

“You said earlier that I do not let others’ perception of me hold me back in my pursuits, and you may be right,” Lust concedes. “But in the past, I have let my own fears keep me from letting myself feel love.” She thinks of Lujon, whom she murdered while being held in his embrace. “I have also manipulated people into falling for me so that I can use them, and they, too, have met similar fates.” She thinks of Jean, who, for all she knows, is currently lying six feet underground in a military grave. “All I can give you as promise that what I feel for you is sincere, and that you will be safe with me, is my word alone.”

She looks up into Olivier’s eyes, and she is as honest as she has ever been in her entire life. Hopefully, Olivier can see that; Lust cannot fathom that she will stay with her regardless.

Olivier stays silent for a long while, but she does not cease meeting Lust’s pleading gaze. She gulps, wets her lips with her tongue, and shakes her head with a sigh. Lust stops breathing.

“I told you when we first met that I trusted you not to kill me,” Olivier says slowly, painfully slow, and Lust still refuses to breathe. “I look at you, and I don’t see a monster.”

Air floods into Lust’s lungs, and she feels dizzy. “What do you see?” she murmurs, and Olivier’s eyes are  _ so blue _ .

They are also looking at her as if she is the world. “I see a woman who has done what she must to get ahead. I am that same woman, even if our methods and our motives for our struggles to keep afloat are different. I cannot hold that against you when I myself have killed in cold blood. I may be a fool,” she adds with a small shake of her head, “but I am a fool who is falling in love with you. If that is clouding my judgement, then so be it. I am the one who is choosing this willingly.”

“Survival of the fittest does not exactly apply to romance,” Lust points out, but she is overjoyed. Never in her centuries of living had she expected someone like Olivier to melt her as she has been. Ironic, that. She is Amestris’ infamous Ice Queen, after all.

“And this is no traditional love story,” Olivier counters, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Can I kiss you,  _ mea amor _ ?”

Sitting up straight, Olivier  _ is _ taller than her, Lust notices. “Of course,” Lust says, and she must amend an earlier thought she had:  _ this _ is the most honest she has ever been in her life. “I wish for nothing more.”

She sees Olivier lean down, eyes closing when she is just centimeters away from Lust. Her lipgloss smells like home. She slides her hands up to Olivier’s neck, where she has never been any warmer. As their lips meet, Lust smiles.

 

—

 

_dein, cum mīlia multa fēcerīmus,_  
_conturbābimus illa, ne sciāmus,_  
_aut nē quis malus invidēre possit,_  
_cum tantum sciat esse bāsiōrum._

"Then, when we will have made many thousand kisses,  
we will throw them [the jealous men and the kisses] into confusion, for we know not [how many kisses we have shared],  
so anyone malicious be unable to envy  
when he learns there to be so many kisses."

—Catullus,  _ Carmen 5 _

**Author's Note:**

> If the ending feels rushed, it is because I am a lesbian. Sorry!
> 
> Translations:  
> "Nonne...linguam": Surely not! I have never known non-alchemists who studied/committed to heart the Xerxesian language.  
> "Ita...tuam": It is true, however, it is not better than your [Xerxesian].  
> "Mea cultella": My little knife  
> "mea amor": My love
> 
> Also, I am really interested in writing more vignettes for this universe, so, stay tuned! I wanna dive more into Lust's backstory, what Lust and Olivier were researching, and them interacting more with the plot of the show/manga, because I feel like I really glossed over that. I will have to rewatch Brotherhood first, though, because I always stop watching when Lust is killed lol


End file.
